


Sex, Guns, and a Snickers Bar

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling in some of the blanks between Ian going over to Mickey's place after Monica comes back and Kash shooting Mickey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex, Guns, and a Snickers Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Please be gentle with me guys. This is my first fanfic EVER and the first bit of creative writing I've done in about five years. Any comments or critiques or requests for me to never do this again are welcome. Hope you enjoy :)

Mickey was sitting in front of the TV, trying to ignore his father’s drunken yells, when he heard the first frantic knock at the door. He was tired. It had been a rough night, with Terry drunk and in a vicious mood. For a second, Mickey seriously considered just ignoring whoever the fuck it was at the door.

Except the knocking came again, sounding just as harried as it had the first time.

“Someone answer the fucking door!” Terry barked.

Mickey got up reluctantly. He was so not in the mood to deal with whatever asshole was standing on the other side of the door, but he’d take whoever it was over Terry losing his shit again any day.

“What the fuck?” Mickey growled as he opened the door. This had better be fucking important.

He wasn’t expecting to come face-to-face with Ian Gallagher. The redhead’s face was ashen, his brown eyes wide and frantic looking.

“I need to see you,” Gallagher panted. The guy was clearly upset, out of breath and looking on the verge of tears. Fuck if Mickey could figure out why Ian’d thought coming to him in that condition was a good idea.

“Not a good time,” Mickey said, casting a glance over his shoulder as Terry began yelling some shit about his pull-up bar. He did not feel like explaining to anyone who happened to see Gallagher why the guy had suddenly rocked up at the Milkovich residence. Mandy was out with friends and as far as anyone else knew, the most contact Mickey and Ian had had was that one time where Mickey and his brothers had wanted to beat the shit out of him.

Now Gallagher was looking at Mickey with those stupid sad puppy eyes, and Mickey wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. All Mickey knew was that it was not a good idea for Gallagher to be hanging around on his front porch.

“I-I don’t know where else to go,” Gallagher stammered.

Well, fuck. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He may be an asshole—hell, most days he prided himself on it—but the look on Gallagher’s face... He’d gotten used to the sweet, goofy smiles or the intensely focused look he got when they were fucking. But this was something new. And for all that he liked to tell himself that he really didn’t give a fuck, he didn’t like this expression.

Mickey rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Damn it, this was not what he’d fucking signed up for. They were fuck-buddies, that was it. He didn’t know how to deal with whatever the hell was going on with Gallagher right now.

“I thought you were working today,” Mickey hedged, hoping to distract the other boy. Hopefully, reminding him of his job and towel-head’s scary ass wife would make him pull himself together or some shit.

No such luck. If anything, Gallagher looked even more stressed out.

The other boy let out a wavering breath. “Linda’s gonna have my ass. I’m supposed to be there now.” Gallagher looked at Mickey pleadingly, still with the fucking puppy eyes.

Mickey let out a little huff before deciding fuck it. “I’ll meet you there in twenty,” he said, closing the door before Gallagher could say anything else.

Mickey swore softly before turning around to head to his room. He dodged Terry, who was still yelling about the fucking pull-up bar. He was just about to pull on his jacket, when he paused. Did he really want to do this? Why the hell should he care that Gallagher was having some sort of crisis? They fucked. That was it. No strings, no emotions, just some good sex with someone they each knew wouldn’t go blabbing about it. For a minute, Mickey seriously considered just texting Ian to tell him that he wasn’t coming. Hell, he didn’t even have to send a text. Not showing up when he said he would probably get the message through loud and clear.

Except... Fuck, he kept getting stuck on the look on Gallagher’s face. It was like someone had just died. He’d go down to the store like he told Gallagher he would, not because he _cared_ or anything, Mickey tried to rationalise to himself. He was always down for a good lay. And if he didn’t follow through on his promise, there was a chance—slight, but still—that Gallagher might not be down to bang anymore. And a good fuck-buddy was hard to find.

Having assured himself that no, he did _not_ care, Mickey put on his jacket and hustled out of his room. He ignored Terry, who was banging around in the kitchen and headed for front door.

“Fuck me,” he muttered when the cold wind stung his face. This had better be fucking worth it.

Mickey made it to the store in fifteen minutes. The only reason he hurried because it was damn cold, not because he was worried about the redhead. Gallagher had better have something in mind to warm up, or he was going to be pissed.

He banged into the store and found Gallagher standing behind the register, his face the picture of misery. He seemed to brighten slightly at the sight of Mickey.

“The fuck’s the matter with you?” Mickey blustered. Gallagher just shook his head, still a little frantic.

“I just... I need...” he stuttered. He rubbed his hand over his face and Mickey saw his lower lip tremble. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Look, you don’t wanna talk about it, and I don’t really wanna hear about it”, Mickey told him, a little desperate to keep Gallagher from stepping too far over Mickey’s carefully drawn lines. It was bad enough that the other boy had come to him for... comfort, or some shit. They did not need to make things worse by talking about it.

As soon as the words came out, Gallagher’s face fell.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Instead of standing firm about keeping things strictly about fucking, Mickey just felt like he’d kicked a puppy. He sighed heavily and jerked his head towards the refrigerators. “C’mon, man.”

Gallagher didn’t say anything, just nodded his head and followed Mickey into the back room.

As soon as they were out of sight of the cameras, Mickey began to unbutton his jeans and take off his belt. Behind him, he heard the other guy doing the same. While he waited, he began rummaging around for the lube and condoms he knew Gallagher kept around there somewhere. He idly wondered how the fuck the redhead explained that shit to towel-head’s wife.

Mickey glanced over his shoulder when he felt Gallagher come up to stand behind him. He silently handed the bottle of lube and the condom over to other boy.

Gallagher didn’t waste any time. He unwrapped the condom and slid it over his hard dick. Then he quickly poured some of the lube onto his fingers, slicking them up. Mickey hastily dropped his pants and grabbed hold of the shelf in front of him.

Mickey inhaled sharply when he felt long, probing fingers at his hole. Sometimes, when they had time and Gallagher was feeling a little cocky, he’d draw this out, teasing Mickey to the point where he would’ve hit the other boy if he weren’t so turned on. That didn’t happen today. He felt one finger inside him, stretching him, before a second one joined it. The other guy knew his body pretty well, finding his prostate after a few tries. Mickey bit back a moan. Gallagher was usually a considerate top, taking enough time to make sure Mickey was ready. Now he did just enough prep to make sure that he wouldn’t hurt Mickey when he finally did begin fucking him.

Luckily, Mickey liked it rough.

He gasped when Gallagher shoved his dick inside him with one sharp thrust. Fuck, he loved this, loved feeling a hard dick inside of him, stretching him. His fists clenched on the shelf in front of him while Gallagher began a hard, pounding rhythm. With every plunge of the redhead’s hips, Mickey fought back a whimper. He heard Gallagher grunting and panting behind him; in the midst of their brutal fucking, the guy seemed to have momentarily forgotten whatever had gotten him so worked up.

Mickey writhed against Gallagher, feeling that tingling in the base of his spine. He was so close. He tried to hold on though, make it last just a little longer. Long fingers wrapping over his tightly clenched fist startled him for a moment. He stared, transfixed. The sight shouldn’t have made him hotter; it implied a level of intimacy that he had no intention of getting into with Gallagher. But before he could get too wound up about it, the other boy picked up the pace behind him, fucking him fast and hard. Any thoughts that may have been rattling around in Mickey’s head dissipated, leaving him on the verge of coming.

That probably explains why he didn’t notice anyone entering the back room. It was only when Gallagher stopped— _fuck, why was he stopping?_ —that Mickey looked over his shoulder. Right into the stunned face of Mr fucking Kash-and-Grab.

“What the fuck?” Mickey yelled, quickly yanking up his pants. He didn’t wait for an answer to that, just barrelled towards towel-head and shoved him aside. Mickey didn’t pause to look back, didn’t stop running until he was a block away. Fucking shit. He needed to do some serious damage control.

A few hours later, Mickey was back. He didn’t think Kash-and-Grab would say anything, too much of a pussy, but he had to make sure. So he entered the store with his usual swagger and sneered at towel-head, “Fuckin’ right, you keep your mouth shut.”

He didn’t even glance in Gallagher’s direction, didn’t see the warning look being shot in his direction. Instead, he reached over and grabbed some candy from next to the register. He turned to pin the older man with a menacing glare.

“You better keep it shut”, he warned. “You hear me?” Kash-and-Grab was now behind the register. He didn’t look all that scared, which probably should’ve been Mickey’s first clue. Usually the guy looked like he was about to shit his pants when Mickey came in the store.

“Put the candy back, Mickey.”

Mickey smirked at him, taking a big bite out the chocolate bar he had just opened. ‘Mmm. That’s sweet. I like ‘em sweet. But then, uh, so do you, huh?”  
Mickey turned away, laughing. He’d be fine. No fucking way was the asshole ever going to grow the balls to say anything about what he saw.

At least, that’s what Mickey thought until he heard the first gun shot. He automatically ducked, covering his head. He stood still in a moment of frozen incredulity. “Fuck,” he muttered as he turned around. Kash looked him dead in the eyes as he fired the second bullet.

“Kash, what are you doing?” Gallagher shouted.

Mickey ignored the redhead, choosing to focus instead on the deranged towel-head with the gun. “It’s a fucking Snickers bar!” Mickey yelled.

This did nothing to appease the older man, as evidenced by where he aimed the next shot. Suddenly, Mickey felt a searing pain in his leg and clutched at his leg as he fell to the floor.

“Fuck!” Mickey yelped. Holy mother-fucking-fuck, that hurt! Jesus Christ, he’d experienced some pretty painful injuries in his life but had so far managed to avoid getting shot. He should’ve stuck to that because this fucking hurt!

He dimly heard Gallagher yelling “Holy shit!” in the background.

“Jesus Chr—” he ground out.

Next thing he knew, Gallagher was kneeling next to him, touching his face, trying to check that he was okay. He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to speak, because fuck! But when he could speak again, he didn’t waste his words on reassuring Gallagher. Instead he gasped out, ‘You fucking suck!” to the impassive owner of the store.

As he lay there panting, he mentally railed against his own stupidity. This, he thought, this right here, is what you get for fucking ignoring your own fucking rules. Bleeding all over the floor of a shitty convenience store after the owner finally grows a pair and shoots you.

Fucking Gallagher.


End file.
